


As The Stitch Unravels Slowly

by TinkerBella



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 17:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2237592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinkerBella/pseuds/TinkerBella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically this is whump and H/C and D'Artagnan being violated against his will.  The act is mentioned and talked about but I do not depict that act as it happens, it's alluded to.   This story is at the request of a friend who I made watch the Musketeers and she now loves it and D'artagnan as much as I do.   She asked for this, so I delivered.  Ultimately it's about the boys helping D'Artagnan deal and Constance being there as well.  It really is angst with a huge helping of H/C.  Oh, and THANK YOU to everyone for their kudos and reviews of my stories.  Much love for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As The Stitch Unravels Slowly

Porthos wanted to shout and break things, but he was having a hard enough time just keeping conscious. He would have given in to the pain and the desire to close his eyes and drift off, had D'Artagnan not been with him. Had they not been captured by thieves and locked up who knew where. They had put up a good fight, the two of them, but being up against eight men, they'd ended up losing the battle. Especially since Porthos had been shot in the thigh. 

 

Both of them had been knocked out, only to wake up in this empty room. Well, Porthos was awake and worried that D'Artagnan had yet to stir. He felt helpless as he sat beside the boy, his free hand pressed to the slim chest, just to reassure himself that D'Artagnan was still breathing. All he could do to pass the time was look about at the empty space. There was no bed, no table, not even a chair. They had no blankets, nothing, just a few candles burning in the corner. The bandage Porthos kept pressed to his wound, in a poor attempt to stop the bleeding, was the bottom of D'Artagnan's shirt.

 

A soft whimper caught Porthos' attention and relief washed over him as he watched D'Artagnan's eyes flicker open. "Hey, you with me?" he called out softly. "D'Artagnan?"

 

"Porthos?" Moving slowly, D'Artagnan rolled to his side before attempting to rise. He only made it as far as his knees before he gagged and had to put his head down. 

 

"Easy," Porthos beseeched him. "They hit you pretty hard. You've been out for a while."

 

D'Artagnan said nothing, he was focused on breathing through the nausea and the pain that spiked through his skull. After a time it passed enough so that he could lift his head to stare at his friend. But his eyes soon moved about the room. "Where are we?"

 

Porthos shrugged. "No clue." He shifted and couldn't hold back a cry at the pain in his thigh.

 

"Your leg!" D'Artagnan scrambled over to him, suddenly remembering that Porthos had been shot in the skirmish. As gently as he could he checked the wound, eyes growing dark with worry. "It's still bleeding." Without hesitation he ripped another strip from the hem of his shirt, folding it into a pad and replacing it with the one already soaked through. "It needs stitching."

 

"Aramis will do his thing when they come for us," Porthos replied. He knew there was little chance of their friends reaching them in time, but he wasn't going to say the words out loud. He would not dash whatever hope D'Artagnan might be clinging to.

 

But D'Artagnan was no fool. "They won't reach us in time," he stated, echoing Porthos' thoughts. "The ball is still in there and it needs to come out before infection sets in. If we don't do that and stitch it soon, you're going to lose too much blood."

 

Strangely enough, it pleased Porthos that D'Artagnan was being so matter of fact about their situation. He preferred to deal with things straight on, and the fact was they were in trouble. If anyone could find them it was Athos and Aramis but, in all reality, they would be too late. At least to save him. D'Artagnan though, the boy might have a chance. Although it bothered Porthos that the thieves had yet to make known their plans for them. 

 

Locking eyes with D'Artagnan, Porthos said, "There's nothing we can do to fix me. We don't have the supplies and I doubt our...jailers...will be willing to give us anything, even if were to ask nicely." Which he wasn't about to do.

 

D'Artagnan, is seemed, had no such qualms about asking. Striding over to the door, he used his fist to bang on it loudly. "Open up!" he demanded. "Do you hear me?" Each word was accompanied by a bang of his fist.

 

"Back away from the door!" A guttural voice from the other side ordered. Then there was the scrape of a key before the heavy door swung open.

 

"My friend is injured and needs medical attention," D'Artagnan blurted out. He had backed away as ordered, but his body was taut with tension and his hands were fisted as if ready to strike out at any moment. And, perhaps he would have done just that, had the guard not been armed with a pistol pointed straight at him. D'Artagnan knew he was of no use to Porthos dead.

 

The guard glanced over at Porthos without a shred of sympathy, then shrugged. "What do I care?"

 

Anger washed over D'Artagnan, fury blazing in his dark eyes as he growled, "If you don't give me the means to help him he's going to die! And since you haven't killed us yet, I doubt that's your goal. Is it? " He watched the man blanch at his words.

 

"Wait here!" the guard snapped, before backing out the door and locking it again.

 

"Where would we go?" D'Artagnan growled in frustration before swallowing a sigh of disappointment. He had failed. "So that went well," he muttered with obvious derision, as he moved to check on Porthos. He knelt down and checked the bleeding again, apologizing when his friend hissed in pain. "I'm so sorry."

 

Porthos gripped D'Artagnan by the wrist, stopping him from moving away. "Nothing to apologize for. I'll be fine." He spoke the words as much for himself as for the boy. "My thanks for trying though."

 

D'Artagnan forced a quivering smile and nodded. Disentangling his wrist from Porthos' grip, he stood up and began pacing. "There has to be a way out. There has to be." He began walking from corner to corner, fingertips grazing the rough walls, but there were no weaknesses to be found, not that he had really expected there to be. 

 

Worry washed over Porthos as he watched D'Artagnan pace. Worry for the both of them. This wasn't how he wanted to go out, although he tried to remind himself that they were still alive, and that gave Aramis and Athos more time to get to them. Although Porthos doubted his own chances for survival, he felt a sense of peace at the thought that D'Artagnan would survive this. Their friends would come in time to rescue the boy, Porthos truly believed this to be true.

 

So he watched D'Artagnan continue to pace, only to stumble and catch himself against the wall. He was about to ask if he was all right when the sound of the key in the lock reached them both. 

 

D'Artagnan straighted up and pushed away from the wall, moving to stand beside Porthos as the door swung open. His head ached and he felt dizzy, but he would do what he could to protect his friend.

 

The same guard was back with another, who held a length of rope in one hand. 

 

The orginal guard pointed his pistol at D'Artagnan. "Come over here, boy. Turn around and put your hands behind your back. Captain Jasper wants to see you." 

 

Without hesitation, D'Artagnan moved to the guard and did exactly as he had been told. He grimaced as the ropes were tied tight around his wrists, but he nodded to Porthos, offering a smile of reassurance. He didn't know who Captain Jasper was, but getting out of this room was the first step in getting them both out of here. 

 

But Porthos wasn't reassured in the least. He knew who Captain Jasper was. The brigand had a reputation throughout Paris and the outskirts. Some had called him a landlocked pirate, but most people simply feared him. They hadn't seen Captain Jasper among the men they'd fought earlier, the ones who had captured them, but Porthos felt things made a bit more sense now. Like them being kept alive. Captain Jasper was known to recruit soldiers into his ranks. Not that he'd ever be able to convince Porthos or D'Artagnan to join him, but maybe he'd just keep them around for sport before killing them. 

 

"What does he want with D'Artagnan?" Porthos called out.

 

"He's willing to negotiate a deal with the boy," the guard replied, smirking.

 

The smirk turned Porthos cold. "What kind of a deal?" he asked, fearing the worst.

 

The guard laughed as he ran the back of one hand down the side of D'Artagnan's face. "You know exactly what kind of deal I mean," he drawled, offering a lewd wink before leaning in to rub his face against D'Artagnan's hair, chortling with glee when the boy pulled away and glared at him. Grabbing D'Artagnan by the arm, he dragged him to the door. "Let's go."

 

"NO!" Porthos bellowed, struggling to rise and failing as pain burned through his leg, leaving him weak and breathless. Slouching against the wall, he pulled in enough air to beg, "D'Artagnan, don't go. You need to stay here, do you hear me? I don't need their help!" He couldn't hide his desperation and he didn't want to. He wanted D'Artagnan to make the right choice.

 

"It's okay, Porthos," D'Artagnan stated, his expression as calm as his voice. "I'll be fine." 

 

The guard laughed as he pushed D'Artagnan out of the room. "Captain Jasper don't like to be kept waiting." That said he slammed the door shut and locked it behind him.

 

They were gone, leaving Porthos alone with his fears. He wasn't one to pray much, but even as he cursed his own weakness, he sent up a prayer for the Lord above to keep D'Artagnan safe. 

 

* * *

 

The sound of the door creaking open jerked Porthos awake. He realized he must have dozed off, even though he didn't remember doing so. The room was darker now, the shadows heavier, but he could see D'Artagnan as he entered the room. The boy's step was steady and his wrists were no longer bound, in fact his arms were laden with a bundle of supplies. 

 

On his heels were the two guards. One carried a bucket of water and a bottle of rum, the other had a tray filled with candles. They set the items down inside the door before closing and locking it once more.

 

In the better light, Porthos studied D'Artagnan as the boy knelt beside him, setting down his supplies. He couldn't read the boy's face, for D'Artagnan was focused on opening the bundle he had with him, and setting about his task of readying thread and a needle and having bandages to the ready.

 

"Are you all right?" Porthos asked, almost fearing the reply.

 

"I'm fine." D'Artagnan's voice was eerily calm, just as his every move was extremely measured and exact. 

 

Porthos was used to the boy being wild fire and manic grace. He wanted to know what happened, but the words died in his throat when he realized that D'Artagnan was wearing a different shirt and that his skin looked damp in the flickering candle light. His dark hair was slicked back as well, as if he had bathed before returning. No, no, no! Looking at D'Artagnan, Porthos knew his worst fears had come true. He felt sick as he reached out a comforting hand, only for boy to flinch back before steeling himself.

 

Rising to his feet, D'Artagnan fetched the bucket of water and brought the tray of candles closer. He then offered Porthos the rum. "Take a few good swigs while I'm cleaning the wound, then I'll need to use it to..." he trailed off, looking remourseful.

 

"I know what you need to do," Porthos interjected, before taking a big gulp of the Rum. But he didn't do it to ease his physical pain, but rather to numb the sickness in his soul. He knew, without a doubt, that Captain Jasper had violated D'Artagnan. That his body was the trade the young Musketeer had made for the supplies needed to save Porthos' life. But the sacrifice was too great. Why had he done such a thing?

 

"You'll need to be still while I dig the ball out," D'Artagnan was saying. He had removed the blood-soaked bandage, ripped open Porthos's breeches and cleaned around the wound while Porthos had been lost in thought. "I can't hold you down while I'm cutting. Can you do it?" 

 

Porthos stared at the small knife in D'Artagnan's hand, surprised that he'd been given the weapon. Sure it was a tiny thing, really only good for cutting open a wound, but it was still a weapon. What had he done to gain such trust from Captain Jasper? Porthos shuddered to think. No, he didn't have to think, he already knew.

 

"Porthos!" D'Artagnan's tone was sharp.

 

"What?" Porthos forced himself to focus on the boy. Then he realized what he was asking. "I can be still," he allowed. After everything D'Artagnan had sacrificed, he would be the perfect patient.

 

D'Artagnan looked uncertain. "I could knock you out," he offered.

 

It was tempting, but Porthos shook his head. He'd failed D'Artagnan already, he would not fail him now. He took another swig of Rum then held out the bottle. "Do it. I'm ready." 

 

"All right." D'Artagnan looked nervous, but his hands were steady as he poured the Rum over the bloody wound. He seemed immune to Porthos's grunts and moans and hoarse cries of pain as he dug into the bullet hole until his nimble fingers could pull out the ball. He didn't hesitate to wash out the wound again before soaking both needle and thread and making neat stitches to close it. Then he took the strips of bandages, folding some into a pad before binding them into place with longer strips.

 

"Well...done," Porthos managed to gasp out. "Aramis...will be...proud." The pain had been horrific and he was rather sorry for not asking the boy to knock him out after all. But it was no more than he deserved and it could not compare to what D'Artagnan had suffered at Captain Jasper's hands. He wanted to apologize to the boy, he wanted to comfort him. He wanted to turn back time and make this all go away, but he could do none of the above for a heartbeat later he fell into darkness.

 

* * *

 

 

Porthos felt a burning pain in his thigh, it pulled him from the darkness and into consciousness despite his best efforts to fall back into oblivion. But then he remembered the source of the pain and he forced his eyes open to see if it had only been a horrible dream. It was not. He was still in the empty room and the pain in his thigh was a harsh reminder that he'd been shot.

 

Realizing that he was lying down and covered with a blanket, Porthos pushed himself upright, needing a moment to work through the pain of his efforts. Once he could breathe again without wanting to weep, he looked for D'Artagnan. The boy was sitting across from him against the far wall, arms wrapped around his updrawn knees, dark-head pillowed on his arms.

 

"Be careful," D'Artagnan warned. "You don't want to pull the stitches and you need to rest. So far you don't have a fever."

 

"What did you do?" Porthos asked, deciding it was time to face the demon in the room.

 

D'Artagnan looked concerned by the question. "You don't remember? I cut the ball out and stitched the wound closed." He had lifted his head off his arms, but he didn't look at Porthos as he spoke.

 

Porthos sighed, knowing that D'Artagnan wasn't going to make this easy on either of them. "That's not what I meant. What did you trade to get the supplies?" He knew, all too well, but he needed D'Artagnan to say it. They needed to talk about it before the reality of it strangled them both emotionally. Emotions weren't an easy thing for Porthos to deal, so he always faced them head on so it was done with and he could move on. He felt it was the best thing to do now, for both of them, but for D'Artagnan in particular. Otherwise it would eat away at the boy. 

 

When no reply was forthcoming, Porthos felt himself grow angry. "What did you do?" he repeated, demanding a reply.

 

"Nothing!" D'Artagnan snapped back, his expression was closed off, as was his body language. 

 

"Don't lie to me!" Porthos wished he could get up and go to the boy. He could see the walls coming up between them. D'Artagning was shutting him out and shutting himself down and Porthos would not allow that to happen. But before he could say anything more, the sound of shouting reached them.

 

D'Artagnan leaped to his feet and moved to the door. There were scuffling footsteps and more shouting and the clang of sword against sword, which could only mean one thing.

 

And right on cue the door opened to reveal Athos and Aramis. They looked a bit disheveled, but otherwise intact as they ran into the room. Aramis made a beeline to Porthos as Athos moved to D'Artagnan.

 

"What happened?" Aramis asked Porthos, even as he took a peak beneath the bandages.

 

"Got shot," Porthos replied, relief making him feel almost dizzy. "D'Artagnan did a great job stitching me up. You should be proud of him." He let his own pride be heard, but it was colored by his regret and heartache. The price that D'Artagnan had paid to save him, stabbed at him like a festering wound.

 

Aramis knew his friend well and he sensed there was something Porthos was hiding, hinted at by the heavy sadness in his voice. But for now he brushed it off as weakness and pain. His friend was alive and safe and that was all that mattered for the moment. "I am proud," he said, as he moved to help Porthos to his feet. "And I'll be sure to tell D'Artagnan so. Once we have you both home. I assume you're ready to leave?"

 

Porthos dug into his reserves and lumbered to his feet. "I am, more than you know. But...wait. What happened to Captain Jasper? Is he dead?" If not, then Porthos wanted to be the one to run him through.

 

"Captain Jasper?" Aramis echoed. "Not THE Captain Jasper?" They all knew of the thieve and his reputation.

 

"One and the same," Porthos allowed. "His men captured us. We were outnumbered eight to two."

 

Aramis looked angry. "Cowards, the lot of them." He supported Porthos as best he could before calling Athos over. "I'm going to need some help."

 

Athos had been checking on D'Artagnan. The boy looked pale and was trembling slightly, but he had been all business when he assured Athos he was fine and that he'd done his best to take care of Porthos. Before he could respond, Aramis called for assistance. 

 

"This is Captain Jasper's work," Aramis stated, as Athos moved to Porthos' other side so they could take the majority of his weight. 

 

"You didn't answer my question," Porthos reminded him, grunting as he tried to walk without putting weight on his bad leg, which meant he basically hopped. "Did you kill Captain Jasper?"

 

Athos was the one who replied. "I didn't see him. But everyone else is dead...or dying."

 

A choked noise came from D'Artagnan and his expression turned to stone as fire burned in his eyes. He bolted out the door, but only just, bending to retrieve a sword off one of their dead guards. "Jasper is mine!" he growled, before taking off. 

 

"NO!" Porthos shouted, but the boy was gone. He turned to Athos. "You have to go after him. Just trust me and follow him. Watch his back." Porthos was glad when Athos didn't hesitate but raced off after their youngest. He knew that D'Artagnan needed to do this. He needed to face Jasper, to destroy his demon. But Porthos wasn't sure it would make what happened to him any better. Or easier. It might just make things worse. 

 

"What is going on?" Aramis asked, as he fought to keep Porthos upright. His friend was shaking and angry and there was definitely something wrong. Something had happened. "Talk to me, Porthos," he beseeched.

 

Only Porthos wasn't ready to explain. He needed a moment to pull himself together. "Did you find our things?" He wanted his weapons and pauldron back. Both he and D'Artagnan had been stripped of the items and Porthos had figured them to be lost. But he hoped, since they were rescued, that they were found.

 

Aramis nodded. "They're in the other room."

"Good." Porthos felt hope flicker into a flame. Becoming a Musketeer had meant everything to D'Artagnan, when all else had been lost to him. His pauldron and weapons symbolized hope for the boy. He would need hope and faith to get through this, just as Porthos would. His own heart was so heavy right now it weighed him down, making his soul ache as much as his body did. 

 

"I'll get them after we get you settled on a horse," Aramis promised. Riding wouldn't be easy, but he knew Porthos would handle it. And it wasn't as if they had any other options.

 

It felt like hours later when Porthos was mounted, his weapons and Pauldron strapped back into place. Now he was simply worried about D'Artagnan. 

 

Aramis moved his horse closer, locking eyes with his friend. "Porthos, talk to me. What's wrong? Are you worried about your wound?" He had checked it over more closely and it was doing well. "D'Artagnan did a great job. I'm certain you won't even take a fever, so long as you do as your told when we return."

 

"I will," Porthos promised, ever reminded of the sacrifice D'Artagnan had made to save him. 

 

"So what's wrong?" Aramis prompted. "You're scaring me."

 

Porthos hung his head, torn. He wanted to tell Aramis, because he felt unable to handle the fall out. D'Artagnan hadn't stopped to deal with it yet, but it would be hell when the time came and Porthos didn't know how to help him. Aramis was much better at dealing with emotions. So he heaved a sigh and told him what he knew, stumbling over his words.

 

Aramis was horrified. "Are you certain he was violated?"

 

"He hasn't admitted it to me, but...I'm sure." Porthos wished to God he wasn't. 

 

"Maybe you're wrong?" Aramis was angry, because the thought of D'Artagnan suffering through such a thing hurt his very soul. The boy was no innocent, for all he was still so very young, but he did not deserve to be violated and used in such a manner. A part of Aramis wanted to ride off after Jasper and kill the man himself. 

 

Porthos wished he was wrong. Maybe there was a chance he was. Maybe he should cling to that. He locked eyes with his friend, willing Aramis to convince him. "Maybe," he whispered after a time, but in his heart he knew he was right. And he cursed Captain Jasper to hell.

 

* * *

 

Athos ran out of the building just in time to see D'Artagnan leap onto a horse and ride off. He mounted his own and chased after him, his heart in his chest. Porthos' words scared him. The man was a rock in the middle of a storm in all things, but now he was shaken and scared for D'Artagnan. That worried Athos to no end. So he bent low and raced like the wind after the boy.

 

He was able to keep him in sight until D'Artagnan entered a copse of trees, at which point Athos had to slow down and pick his way by sound. He finally spotted D'Artagnan's horse and heard the clang of steel on steel. Leaping off his own mount and drawing his own sword, Athos ran to the fight.

 

D'Artagnan and Captain Jasper were locked in battle, but Athos' arrival startled them both and Athos cursed himself as Jasper took advantage of D'Artagnan's distraction and grabbed the boy in a choke hold. Only to cry out as D'Artagnan elbowed him in the ribs and stomped on his foot simultaneous, which allowed him to slither free.

 

As they faced each other again, Jasper grinned. "Come now, D'Artagnan. Don't play shy with me. I know you want me to touch you again," he drawled. "You can still feel my hands on you, can't you? Feel the imprint of my fingers as I bruised you. Claimed you. Hmmmm?"

 

Athos felt himself grow pale at the other man's words, as understanding dawned. But it couldn't be true, could it? No, it couldn't be true. Only one look at D'Artagnan's pale face and Athos felt the truth hit him like a kick in the gut. Captain Jasper had violated the boy, and he was taking great joy in taunting him with it now. 

 

"You can still feel me all hard inside you, boy," Jasper continued, making lewd motions with his free hand. "I know you can. You look so pretty in pain, D'Artagnan. So very pretty. You were born to be fucked, boy." If he thought his words would distract the young Gascon, he was sadly mistaken.

 

"You are dead," D'Artagnan whispered, and with unerring speed and precision, he lunged forward and skewered Jasper straight through the heart. As the other man fell, D'Artagnan released the sword, leaving it quivering in the dead body. He turned, body stiff, walking blindly back to his horse only to freeze when Athos moved to stand before him. "Don't!" he hissed, when the other man reached out to him. "Please." D'Artagnan shook his head, willing himself to be calm, to gather his self control around him like a cloak. 

 

Athos froze, not knowing what to do or what to say. He wanted to offer comfort, but D'Artagnan was pulling away from him. "What...what do you need?" he asked.

 

D'Artagnan took a calming breath and he was pleased when his voice came out strong and sure. "WE need to get back to Porthos," he emphasized. "He needs to get home and to rest."

 

"Of course." Athos let D'Artagnan lead the way back to the horses. They mounted and rode off in heavy silence. Athos lost in thought at what he'd heard, Captain Jasper's taunts to D'Artagnan echoing in his head. That bastard had violated the boy and Athos had to fight to control the rage he felt for what D'Artagnan had suffered through. But he made himself calm, because this wasn't about his pain. He needed to make his focus about D'Artagnan. Whatever the boy needed, Athos would find a way to help him. Come what may.

 

* * *

 

 

"Jasper is dead," D'Artagnan announced, as he and Athos returned. He was calm and almost serene as he dismounted and moved to Porthos' side. Without hesitation he checked under the bandage. "The stitches are holding."

 

"You did a good job," Aramis spoke up, following the boy's lead. If he wanted to pretend he was fine for now, then so be it. But now that he knew what had happened, it was easy to see the signs. The boy was too tense, too in control of himself. He was trying to hard to keep himself together.

 

D'Artagnan nodded, looking pleased. "Not as good as your stitching, Aramis, but I'm sure I'll get more practice in the future with you lot." He was almost smiling as moved back to his horse. "Are we ready to go home?"

 

Porthos managed to smile back. "I am." He pointed to the bundle Aramis was holding. "We have our things back."

 

"My thanks," D'Artagnan replied, striding over to Aramis to accept his weapons and Pauldron, but he did nothing more than strap on the sword. The pistol he placed in his holster on the saddle and the pauldron he put in the saddle bag. He then leaned against his horse for a moment, head bent. He truly was grateful to have his sword and pauldron back. They symbolized all that he had left in the world. The sword had been a gift from his father, and the Pauldron was the reminder that he had a purpose in life. And right now he needed both things to cling to. 

 

"Are you all right?" Porthos asked, unable to hide his worry.

 

D'Artagnan didn't look up, he didn't have the energy in that moment, or the courage. It took everything he had left in him to blink back the tears that burned in his eyes and keep his voice from cracking as he replied, "Just weary." 

 

Athos eyed him with concern. "It's a long journey. Porthos and Aramis can go ahead if you need to rest."

 

"I'm fine," D'Artagnan stated, turning and swiftly mounting his horse. He felt a rising panic and had to breath deeply to dispel it before it could claim him. He turned his focus to Porthos. "You're the one that needs to rest. I don't want my work being ruined." The levity he infused in his voice was hard won. But it got results. 

 

"Let's go then," Athos said, wanting to do whatever D'Artagnan needed.

 

When D'Artagnan gestured for Porthos to lead the way, the big Musketeer nudged his horse forward, but he was glad when the boy fell into place beside him. That way he could keep and eye on him, even as he was certain that was D'Artagnan's intent towards him.

 

Athos was glad to lag behind, only to be startled when Aramis moved close beside him, their knees brushing. He looked up to a worried face and that set off warning bells. "Porthos? Is he all right?"

 

"Doing well all things considered," Aramis replied. "D'Artagnan did an excellent job. It's the boy I'm worried about. Porthos told me that he made a deal with Captain Jasper for the medical supplies." Aramis broke off, uncertain how to continue.

 

"I know!" Athos hissed, feeling anger welling back up in full force. He had hoped to convince himself that Jasper had merely been trying to provoke D'Artagnan into making a mistake, but now he knew that hope was in vain. He leaned into Aramis so that they wouldn't be overheard. "Jasper taunted him with what he'd done. Dammit! We should have been there."

 

Aramis placed a hand on Athos' arm in an attempt to calm him. "Shhh.." he hissed, nodding towards their young friend. "I'm guessing D'Artagnan is in denial right now and we need to follow his lead. We have to be calm and strong for him."

 

Athos ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I know...I know. I just wish we could have done something to spare him this. Why this of all things?" Getting hold of his rage was not easy, but Athos continued to wrestle with it, knowing he needed to be strong for D'Artagnan. But he had never felt so helpless in his life.

 

* * *

 

They were all exhausted when they rode into the Garrison. Treville was waiting for them and he was quick to get others to help Porthos to his room, with Aramis following close behind. Which left Athos and D'Artganan to give a report. The boy explained about their capture and Porthos' injury and Athos picked up from his and Aramis' arrival and rescue.

 

"They were Captain Jasper's men," Athos finished.

 

"And Jasper? Was he there?" Treville inquired, for he had long been hoping for a chance to wipe the bastard from the face of the Earth. He had fought him once, but Jasper had wounded him and escaped. It was a failure Treville had carried with him for the past ten years. 

 

D'Artagnan replied. "He's dead. I killed him." With that he turned sharply on his heel and strode off.

 

Athos wanted to follow him, but he couldn't leave Treville hanging. He tried to explain D'Artganan's behavior without giving too much away. Until D'Artagnan was ready to deal with what had happened to him, Athos felt they needed to keep it to themselves. No one else needed to know. "He's exhausted and has been through a lot. He took good care of Porthos."

 

"Keep an eye on him," Treville countered. "He seems on edge."

"I will," Athos confirmed. He managed what he hoped was a reassuring smile, before striding off. He hoped to find D'Artagnan in his room but it was empty. So he went to Porthos' room and felt relief to see D'Artagnan there, conversing with Aramis. Porthos was abed and already asleep.

 

Aramis noticed Athos first and gestured to Porthos. "He's going to be fine, thanks to D'Artagnan's good work."

 

Athos felt glad to hear that and he nodded to boy. "Perhaps you should be worried, Aramis. Young D'Artagnan is quick to pick up your skills. What use will we have of you then?" Athos hoped his teasing would lighten the tension that crackled in the room. A tension that prickled over his skin and left him feeling on edge.

 

"Perhaps," Aramis allowed, picking up on what Athos was doing. "But I do have plenty of other skills."

 

"Never happen," D'Artagnan countered, moving to check on Porthos again. He felt unsettled, his head ached and he was weary to the bone. But it was a different ache and the memory of an unwanted touch and burning pain that suddenly consumed him. He felt as if he were going shatter into pieces with each beat of his heart, the thud of it echoing in his ears. Pain piereced through his skull as he battled to draw air into his lungs and darkness danced before his eyes. He needed to get out, he needed to run, to escape the walls that were suddenly closing in on him. But even as he took a step the ground moved beneath his feet and he was falling.

 

Athos saw the change that came over D'Artagnan. Saw him turn deathly pale and the way his eyes glazed over. He watched him sway and stumble and Athos surged forward, catching the boy as his body crumpled. He cradled him in his arms even as he lowered them both to the floor. "D'Artagnan!"

 

Aramis was on his knees beside them, hands moving over D'Artagnan. He cupped the boy's face, then let his fingers drift through his hair, checking for injuries. "He has a bump on the back of his head," Aramis announced, and he was almost glad at the find. "Probably easy for him to ignore up till now, given everything that's happened. His body just gave in to what he needs most. Rest."

 

"I'll take him to his room and watch over him there." Athos made to lift D'Artagnan into his arms, only Aramis stopped him.

 

"I think he should stay here, with Porthos." Aramis rose to his feet and moved to the trunk at the end of the bed. He pulled out pillows and blankets and made a cozy nest on the floor in the corner. "Lay him here and we can watch over them both. I think D'Artagnan might take some comfort in Porthos' presence. Taking care of him gave him focus before."

 

Nodding, Athos rose with D'Artagnan in his arms, the boy too light and felt much too fragile. He laid him down gently, smoothing the dark hair back from the sweet face. He understood what Aramis was saying and he hoped that it would help. He would take whatever he could get in this moment, for he hated feeling so damn helpless. "Is he badly hurt, do you think?" It was the question they both wanted, needed, the answer to.

 

Aramis looked at D'Artagnan, hating how young and vulnerable he looked. Hating that even in unconsciousness his body seemed restless. "It would be easier on him if I checked him now, while he's unaware," Aramis stated. "But at the same time..."

 

"It feels like yet another violation," Athos finished for him. "I know. But he's said nothing and we're all assuming the worst. Maybe we're wrong. I want to be wrong. But we need to know if we're to help him. Whatever did happen between D'Artagnan and Captain Jasper, it wasn't good."

 

"I'll check then." Aramis locked eyes with Athos, not moving a muscle until the other man nodded. "You're sure?" They both needed to be.

 

Athos exhaled a soft sigh. "I'm sure about nothing," he confessed. "But this must be done, it's for the best. I will take the blame when we tell D'Artagnan, for we will tell him what we've done. He can hate me if he must."

 

Aramis clapped Athos on the shoulder. "He could never hate you, trust me on that one. Now, sit beside him and try to keep him calm if he does awake."

 

"Of course." Athos moved to sit by D'Artagnan's head, letting his fingers comb through the boy's soft hair. To his surprise, D'Artagnan's body seemed to relax and his expression became more peaceful. He kept his eyes locked on the beautiful face as Aramis began his examination.

 

"Forgive me, D'Artagnan," Aramis whispered, as he lifted the boys' shirt. 

 

Athos did not watch as Aramis continued. Although when the leather breeches were eased down off D'Artagnan's hip bones, he heard an exclamation of shock and looked over. He swallowed his own gasp at the sight of hand prints on the olive skin. Perfectly detailed finger prints outlined in bruises. Anger surged through Athos, making him shake.

 

Aramis reached out to grip his arm and ground him. "At least we know," he whispered. He heaved a sigh then said, "We need to roll him on his side."

 

It hurt to know what that meant, but Athos helped Aramis move the pliant body, before letting his hand rest on D'artagnan's head again, stroking through the silky hair, looking away from the truth, only to see that Porthos was watching him. "You're awake? How long?"

 

"Long enough," Porthos replied. "This is all my fault." The guilt and anger he felt seeped through his voice. "I begged him not to go."

 

"Tell me what happened," Athos beseeched him. He needed the details to help him make sense of this in his own mind.

 

So Porthos told him what he knew, and how D'Artagnan had looked when he returned with the supplies. How he wore a different shirt and he was damp as if coming from a bath. After he finished he locked eyes with Athos and said, "So Aramis told you about it?" Obviously Athos had known before now.

 

But Athos shook his head. "He confirmed it from what you'd told him. But when I caught up to D'Artagnan in the woods, he and Jasper were fighting and the bastard taunted the boy with what he'd done to him." Athos replayed the moment, the words, in his head, wishing he could revive the brigand and kill him time and again, each time more painful than the last. "D'Artagnan did not falter," he continued, with pride. "He just focused and ran him through."

 

"I'm glad," Porthos whispered, his attention distracted by Aramis rising to his feet. He looked pale and shaky and Porthos knew that everything they had feared happened, had happened. "How bad?" He had to know.

 

"He's bruised and torn a bit," Aramis replied as he headed for the door. "I have a salve that will help him heal and when he starts to wake up we need to give him a sleeping draught. Rest is what D'Artagnan needs most right now. Rest and time to heal the physical wounds." He was babbling but that didn't matter. He needed to be moving, to do something, because right now he wanted to scream and throw things and hurt people. Doing something to help D'Artagnan would settle him. So Aramis practically ran out the door, leaving his friends behind to deal with the repercussions in their own way. Not caring if it made him a coward. He had to find his own center if he were to be able to help the boy.

 

Athos understood why Aramis had left and he did not begrudge him his escape. The healer amongst them felt their pain as if it were his own and suffered for it. This would be hard on him. So Athos turned back to D'Artagnan, for he had become restless again. He soothed him with a hand in his hair, then settled him more comfortably, glad to see that Aramis had put his clothing back to rights. He grabbed one of the blankets and covered D'Artagnan as he prepared himself for what he knew would be a long night. 

 

Porthos watched Athos caring for D'Artagnan before closing his eyes, and letting the silence fall between them. Both of them lost in their own dark thoughts as they kept vigil over their youngest.

 

When Aramis returned, he administered the salve before cleaning up and preparing the sleeping draught. Within minutes D'Artagnan stirred, and he and Athos worked as a unit to get the boy to swallow it before he came fully back to consciousness. Once he was deeply asleep, Athos rose to his feet.

 

"Treville needs to know what happened," he said softly, not surprised when no one argued with him. The Captain would be discreet and no one else would ever know what happened unless D'Artagnan chose to reveal it. But they all needed time to deal with this, and with the storm that was coming. Because as strong as D'Artagnan was, at some point he was going to break and Athos was going to be there to pick up the pieces. They all were.

 

Once Athos was gone, Aramis checked on Porthos' wound before moving to sit beside D'Artagnan on the floor. He wanted to watch over him, to watch over them both. "You should sleep, Porthos," he beseeched his friend. 

 

Porthos nodded, knowing he needed to heal and get his strength back. D'Artagnan would need him to be strong. "He's going to be all right, yeah?"

 

"We'll make sure of it," Aramis replied. "Now rest," he ordered, pleased when Porthos closed his eyes. 

 

It was quiet and should have been peaceful with the soft shadows from the flickering candle light, but the silence in the room was suffocating.

 

* * *

 

As Athos had expected, the news of what happened to D'Artagnan had shocked Treville. But he had recovered swiftly and announced that Porthos and D'Artagnan would have all the time off they needed to recover, and that he would only put Aramis and Athos on duty if necessary. 

 

For two days D'Artagnan slept on, aided by the sleeping draught. Porthos slept as much as he could to aid in healing and he was doing well. He ate and slept and watched D'Artagnan. Today he was alone with the boy for a short while. Aramis and Athos had gone on an a quick errand for Treville, then to fetch dinner as they felt it was time to let D'Artagnan fully awaken. The Gascon was too thin as it was and a few days without food had made him thinner and, no doubt, weaker. They were all prepared for him to be furious with the lot of them once he awoke.

 

"P'thos..." D'Artagnan's voice was slurred, heavy with sleep. He blinked hard to clear his vision as he realized where he was. He was lying on a pile of blankets in Porthos' room. His head felt heavy, as did his body, and he felt sluggish. He needed to sit up but it was hard to move and he felt trapped which sent panic rippling through him. 

 

"D'Artagnan!" Porthos was shocked to see that he was awake and struggling to sit up from his cocoon of blankets. He rose from his bed and hobbled over to help him, tugging the blankets aside to free D'Artagnan's limbs. "Easy, lad. You're all right. It's all right."

 

D'Artagnan went still as he realized he was in a safe place and Porthos spoke the truth. He spent a moment taking inventory of his aches and ills. He was tired and lethargic and something was off. Something didn't feel quite right and it hit him in that moment. Everything that had happened with Jasper and everything that must have happened since. "How long?" he demanded, as the cold, hard, slap of clarity allowed him to focus. One look at Porthos' face and he knew that the images, thoughts and feelings that he'd thought were dreams were a bitter reality. They had drugged him, and in that time they had learned the truth.

 

Porthos knew what he was asking and he saw no sense in pretending otherwise. He would not lie to D'Artagnan for the boy deserved the truth. "A few days. Aramis felt it was for the best." 

 

"So you know." It was a statement, not a question and D'Artagnan was more unsettled than angry as he looked at his friend. The man looked defeated and broken in a way he had never seen before. It unsettled D'Artagnan. 

 

"We do," Porthos confirmed, having to force himself not to look away from D'Artagnan. The boy looked sad and angry and so damn vulnerable in this moment that it broke his heart. "We did what we felt was in your best interest, no harm intended. So hate us if you will, D'Artagnan." He made the confession without remorse. "We'll understand."

 

Rising to his feet, D'Artagnan pressed a hand against the wall as dizziness washed over him and his legs trembled against holding his weight. He was weak from too much sleep and not enough food. After a moment it passed, but he was still shaky as he searched for his boots. He sat in the chair by the table to put them on. "I have to go," he said, as he stumbled to the door. He couldn't be here. He couldn't face Porthos and the others, not knowing that they would look at him different now. Everything would be different. He wasn't ready for this and he doubted he ever would be. 

 

Porthos made to follow him. "Just wait for the others, they're coming back in a minute. Please, D'Artagnan. We need to talk."

 

"I'll be back," D'Artagnan whispered. "I just...I need some time to myself." More than anything he needed a bath and clean clothes and a moment to fall apart without anyone watching him. After which he would pull himself together and be strong. He was a Musketeer now and he would represent them with honor. So, ignoring Porthos' pleas, he walked out, closing the door firmly behind him. 

 

* * *

 

"I'm going to look for him," Porthos announced, rising from his bed and getting ready to head out the door. Hours had passed since D'Artagnan had left. Aramis and Athos had returned, shocked to see the Gascon gone. Porthos told them what was said and they had both assured him that D'Artagnan just needed some time to deal with everything that had happened. He would come back. He had to come back.

 

"Give him some time," Athos countered, moving to intercept his friend. "A few more hours and if he doesn't show up, we'll find him." He wanted to run out that door and go looking right now as well, but he felt they owed it to D'Artagnan to give him some space.

 

Porthos sat back down, but he wasn't happy. He ticked off a few more minutes in his head and felt as if he might go crazy if they had to wait much longer. He was distracted to the point where he jumped at the sudden knock on the door.

 

Aramis was quick to open it and was stunned to see D'Artagnan standing there. What surprised him even more was that the boy was fully dressed including his jacket, pauldron and his weapons belted around his far too slender waist. "D'Artagnan," he stated, because he couldn't think of what else to say. His mind had stuttered into blankness.

 

"May I come in?" D'Artagnan was unfailingly polite in his request.

 

"Of course, Forgive me. Please, come in." Aramis stepped back to allow him entry. He closed the door behind him then they all turned to look at the boy. 

 

D'Artagnan was aware of the attention and a part of him wanted to bolt out of the room, but he could get through this. He would get through this. They would talk about it then move on. But it was hard to say the words, to control the memories so that they would not overwhelm him again. When he'd left earlier he gone to his room for clean clothes, then to the nearest tavern where he had rented a room with bath. He had soaked in the hot water for only a moment, too many memories battering at him, crushing him, making him wash quickly before stepping out and emptying his stomach into a nearby bucket. After which he had dried off, gotten dressed and gone for a walk. His thoughts had been chaos and his body had trembled with the effort to keep control of his emotions. But he fought them and won, because he was a Musketeer. Because he was determined to make his friends proud. He would give them no cause for concern.

 

Then Athos came to his rescue, of a sort. "I apologize for making choices for you, D'Artagnan. We were concerned and I know this is difficult for you. We simply don't know how to help you."

 

"I'm fine," D'artagnan replied, feeling a ripple of anger that he forced himself to repress. They were not to blame for what happened and he would not lash out at them. "I understand what you did and why you did it. I don't like that you did so without my consent..." He paused, feeling his body tremble, feeling vulnerable again and hating it. 

 

"My apologies," Athos said again. And he would repeat it over and over if need be. 

 

D'Artagnan pulled himself together and managed a smile. "It's over and done with. All of it. I have no regrets for what I did." He turned to Porthos as he spoke. "I would do it again to save you...to save any one of you." 

 

Porthos felt his throat go tight with that admission and he sniffed and had to swallow hard before he was able to respond. "I'm grateful to be alive, but I'm not sure my life is worth the sacrifice you made."

 

"How can you say that?" D'Artagnan shouted, stepping over to Porthos and leaning in with eyes blazing. "You are worth any sacrifice! All of you! Do you not know how important you are?" To me, but he did not say that aloud. Without them his life had no meaning, for without them he had nothing. Did Porthos not understand that?

 

"I get it," Porthos replied, stunned by the boy's reaction. He knew that D'Artagnan considered them his family, he knew what that meant, but it was humbling to realize just how much he mattered to the young Musketeer. To hear him say it with such passion and sincerity was overwhelming. "I just...I wish you didn't have to pay the price. I will carry the guilt of it always."

 

D'Artagnan felt his anger deflate, leaving him feeling empty and tired to the point where he stumbled on his feet. He felt strong hands grip his shoulders to steady him and it was hard not to flinch. But he was stronger than this. He slid away from the hands and said to Porthos, "You have nothing to be guilty about. Promise me you will let your guilt go. Please." He would beg if he must. He couldn't bear the thought of his friend suffering because of him. 

 

Porthos could see what this meant to D'Artagnan. He would not be able to let go of his guilt so easily, but he could not disappoint the boy. "I'll try," he allowed. 

 

"Come sit and eat with us," D'Artagnan, Aramis interjected. He had saved some stew because he could guess the boy wouldn't eat without being prompted and he had lost weight he could ill afford to lose. He could still feel the ridge of D'Artagnan's ribs beneath his fingers when he had swept his hands over the slender body, checking for injuries.

 

"I'm not hungry," D'Artagnan mumbled, for just the thought of food made his stomach twist into knots. He knew he would have to eat to get his strength back up, for not now. Not today. He was muddling through one small step at a time. Right now he just wanted the others to accept that he was fine and let him move on. 

 

Athos was not to be swayed. "You're dead on your feet and look ready to collapse. You need to eat." His words were meant to be an order, but they came out softly, gently. Almost begging. 

 

D'Artagnan turned to face him. "You don't need to tell me what to do! Don't treat me like I'm fragile!" The thought of Athos thinking of him as soft and broken shook D'Artagnan to his very core. 

 

"I know how strong you are, D'Artagnan," Athos replied. "But there's no shame in needing help." He was fully aware of the hypocrite he was being with his words, but he would face his own follies another time.

 

"I don't need your help! Any of you!" Something inside of D'Artagnan snapped. He loathed knowing that they thought him weak and helpless. "I don't need you!" As he spoke he spun and swept his arm across the table, knocking bowls and goblets and a bottle of wine onto the floor. The sound of the bottle shattering was like a slap in the face to D'Artagnan and he stared down at the mess he'd made in horror. 

 

Athos moved to him, but D'Artagnan stumbled back. "It's all right," he told the boy, even though he was still shocked by his actions. 

 

But D'Artagnan turned away, moving to kneel on the floor, desperately trying to collect the broken pieces of glass. He had to clean up his mess. He had to clean it up and make it go away. But he was shaking so badly that he cut his hand on one of the broken shards, the pain sharp and the blood welling up bright red, staining his skin. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispered like the litany of a prayer, because he just kept making things worse. "I'm so sorry....so sorry." his fingers, slick with blood, fumbled at the dishes, dropping them instead of picking them up. Why couldn't he get this right? What was wrong with him?

 

"D'Artagnan," It was Aramis' voice beside him, soft and calm. "It's fine. You're fine. I just need to check your hand." He took D'Artagnan's wrist to look at the damage only for the boy to yank his hand back.

 

"I have to clean this up," D'Artagnan insisted, turning back to the mess on the floor, but he didn't know where to start. He didn't know how to fix this, any of this. He felt himself start to shake, and he was angry at his weakness. He could not allow himself to be weak. His father would be ashamed of him. And that thought made him freeze, made him feel dizzy and hot and cold at once, body tipping over.

 

It was Porthos who caught him, strong arms lifting D'Artagnan and shifting him into the chair at the table. He then cupped the boy's face in both hands, making D'Artagnan look at him. "You're going to sit here and let Aramis take care of your hand. You understand me?" His words were sharp but not harsh. He was making it an order because he understood in that moment that treating D'Artagnan as if he would break was making things worse. 

 

For a moment D'Artagnan simply stared at Porthos, hearing his words but unable to comprehend. He was trying desperately to stop shaking.

 

"D'Artagnan!" Porthos snapped his name and tapped his cheek smartly.

 

"I'm sorry," the apology tumbled out before D'Artagnan could stop it. He wasn't even sure what he was sorry for, but suddenly a blanket was draped over him and Porthos' hands found his shoulders and he the world stopped tilting. He was still shaking but he was able to claw at the tatters of his control and drag it around him like a cloak. 

 

Aramis pushed Porthos aside, grabbing D'Artagnan's hand and checking the wound. It wasn't a long cut, but it was deep and bleeding heavily. He had grabbed a linen from the floor and pressed it to the wound. "You're weak from hunger and losing blood, which means you're going into shock," he stated, matter-of-factly. "I'm going to have to stitch this and you need to eat something."

 

D'Artagnan nodded, too weary to argue anymore. As Aramis worked on him, he found himself dozing. He didn't remember when the shaking stopped, nor did he remember moving to the bed where he presently found himself reclined. On the edge of a nightmare, he jolted awake and found his friends watching him from where they were scattered about the room. Sitting up, D'Artagnan winced as he forgot about his hand and used it to scrub at his face. "How long was I asleep?" he asked somewhat irritably, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

 

"About and hour," Athos replied. He moved to stand beside him. "Do you feel up to eating something?"

 

"Not really." Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, D'Artagnan realized his pauldron, jacket, weapons and boots had been removed while he was oblivious. That bothered him, even though he knew his friends meant him no harm. As he rose to his feet he took note of the fact that the mess he had made had been cleaned up, as if it had never been. The only reminder was the cut on his hand. He wished he could do that with his life. Clean up and erase the mess he had made. The mess his life had become. One moment in time, one choice made without regret, and everything had changed. 

 

Porthos watched D'Artagnan move to where his boots sat by the foot of the bed. He watched the boy stamp his feet into them before pulling on his jacket. "Going somewhere?" he asked.

 

D'Artagnan nodded. "To my room. I apologize for my behavior. Please forgive me."

 

"You can stay here," Porthos offered. He felt as if he had to keep D'Artagnan with them. To let the boy go would be to put him at risk again.

 

"I'm fine," D'Artagnan replied, wishing the ground would open and swallow him up. He had never felt so uncomfortable in the company of these men as he did now. They had seen too much, and it felt as if they were looking deep into his very soul and found him wanting. He needed to escape. He needed to be alone to pull himself together. He turned to Athos. "Could we spar in the morning?"

 

Athos stared at him for a long moment, as if looking for something, before nodding. "We can. Sleep well, you'll need your wits about you." It was hard to let D'Artagnan out of his sight, but he knew the boy needed some time alone. He needed to fight his demons on his own terms. Athos was an expert when it came to those particular battles. An expert and a failure. But he knew D'Artagnan was a stronger man. A better man. He would trust him. And maybe that's what he needed right now, their trust.

 

Relief flooded through D'Artagnan when he realized they were going to let him go without a fight. He bid them all goodnight then nearly ran out the door, seeking the the solace of his empty room.

 

Left behind, the others stared at each other until Porthos broke the silence. "He's going to be all right." It should have been a statement, but it came out more like a question.

 

"He will be," Athos replied, because he could not accept anything else. D'Artagnan was the best and the brightest of them all. Unlike himself, D'Artgnan would battle his demons and win. "I'll take my leave. Goodnight." Athos left to seek solace in the bottom of a bottle of wine.

 

Porthos looked at Aramis. "Want to play a few hands of cards?" He didn't want to be alone right now.

 

Aramis forced a smile, waggling a finger at his friend. "No cheating," he warned as he sat down at the table.

 

"Can't promise that," Porthos shot back, after snagging the deck of cards and taking his own seat. He shuffled and dealt a hand but his mind wasn't focused on his cards. His thoughts were with D'Artagnan.

 

* * *

 

Surprisingly, Athos beat D'Artagnan to the exercise yard. He was pleased to see that the younger man looked somewhat rested when he arrived a few minutes later. 

 

"Are you ready?" D'Artagnan asked, unsheathing his sword and swiping it through the air. 

 

"I am." Athos brought his own sword to the ready and they moved to face each other, offering a salute before taking a stance. A smile curved his lips as D'Artagnan rushed him, bringing back memories of the first time they had crossed swords. The boy had been filled with anger then, but in this moment he looked focused but happy. Athos didn't question it as they clanged swords, danced back then parried once more. 

 

And so it went for several minutes until Aramis arrived, supporting a limping Porthos. It was a welcome distraction because they had seen the change in D'Artagnan as well and were smiling as they moved to sit at the table. 

 

Aramis clapped and bowed to D'Artagnan. "You're in fine form this morning," he complimented the boy.

 

"It's a beautiful day," D'Artagnan replied, bowing back in acknowledgement. He hadn't really slept much, but he'd managed a few hours in between the nightmares. Still, he felt somewhat lighter this morning and he was determined to put what happened behind him. Working on his swordplay with a master swordsman like Athos was exhilarating and made him feel alive again. One more step towards moving forward.

 

"Less talk, more practice," Athos called out, unable to keep a smile off his own face. And so they faced off once more, steel clanging on steels as they lunged and spun and parried. He was certain that D'Artagnan would have been willing to continue on for hours, but Athos finally called a halt. "I'm starving," he announced, when Serge started laying breakfast on the table.

 

Reluctantly, D'Artagnan resheathed his sword before joining the others at the table, but he ignored the food that was offered to him. "I'm not hungry," he insisted, when they tried to push it on him.

 

Athos felt anger well up inside him. Not at D'Artagnan but at Jasper and the circumstances that had left the boy unable to function normally. It took him a moment to calm, but he managed to sound uncaring as he drawled, "You will eat or I will have Treville take you off your duties."

 

"You can't do that!" D'Artagnan was stunned that Athos would even say such a thing.

 

"I can and I will," Athos countered, glancing at the others and knowing that they understood what he was doing and would support him. "You are of no use to us if you are weak with hunger. Would you put your fellow Musketeers at risk?" It was cruel and it cut Athos to the core to speak this way, but he knew that D'Artagnan was beyond accepting reason. He needed to be pushed.

 

Scowling, fighting the anger that threatened to engulf him, D'Artagnan grabbed a honey cake and took a bite. It tasted bitter and stuck in his throat, and it took a full cup of water to swallow it down, but he made it happen. A part of him was angry and felt betrayed, but in his head he knew that Athos spoke the truth. He felt the weakness in his body when he allowed himself to feel anything at all. The rush of the fight, being able to focus while sparring with Athos had allowed him to forget what happened for a little while. But his body would betray him in the end and he would not let himself be the reason why one of his friends was injured or, worse, died. 

 

Aramis watched as D'Artagnan struggled to eat and he felt his heart ache. He was about to let the boy off the hook when he saw a change come over the young Musketeer. He couldn't explain it, but it was as if D'Artagnan had found a way to focus and overcome. He finished the cake and reached for another, somehow managing to smile and joke with Porthos as he made short work of it. Pride washed over Aramis in waves as he marveled at D'Artagnan's strength of will. 

 

"Do we have any pressing missions?" D'Artagnan asked, before downing another cup of water. Eating the honey cakes had been difficult, but he felt a bit better for having done it. His head felt a bit less fuzzy, even though his stomach was coiling into knots. He would work through the nausea. He would do whatever needed to be done to be strong for his friends. 

 

"Nothing for a while," Athos replied. "The Captain wants to give Porthos a few more days to heal." He did not add that the time off was for D'Artagnan's benefit as well. "He will call us if needed though."

 

Rising to his feet, D'Artagnan offered them all a smile. "Will it be all right it I go for a ride? My horse needs the exercise and so do I?"

 

Athos bit his lip, debating how to reply. He could guess that D'Artagnan wanted some time alone, but the thought of letting him go without escort overwhelmed him with fear. Yet he could not mollycoddle the boy, it would do none of them any good. "A short ride would be fine," he allowed. "That way you'll be close by if we have need of you."

 

"I'll be back soon," D'Artagnan promised. He strode quickly into the stable and saddled his mare. She looked happy to see him and he was soothed by her warm presence. Mounting up, D'Artagnan rode out of the garrison, heading east. It wasn't long before he was able to canter then gallop and he leaned low, letting the wind tangle in his hair as he felt free for the first time since he and Porthos had been captured. 

 

* * *

 

Porthos hadn't been able to relax until D'Artagnan had returned to the Garrison. He had seemed at peace and they had all been more than happy to follow his lead as he asked Aramis to work with him on his shooting skills. For the moment it seemed, the old D'Artagnan was back and they were pleased and relieved.

 

But Aramis knew that it would not be that simple. He watched D'Artagnan struggle to eat and put weight back on. He saw the dark circles beneath the darkness, a sign of sleepless nights. But when he asked about it, D'Artagnan had politely, but firmly, insisted he slept just fine.

 

Athos knew that D'Artagnan suffered nightmares. He knew they all did, Porthos more so for he could not let go of his guilt. He also feared that the boy was closing himself off from them. In the blink of an eye he had gone back to what passed for normal. He would eat and laugh and practice and carry on with them as if nothing had happened. He was wearing himself out trying to be the D'Artagnan he thought they wanted him to be. It was exhausting to watch and Athos was afraid of the fall out. What cost to the boy to continue on with this charade? 

 

D'Artagnan was finding it easier and easier to pretend with each day. He kept his mind focused on his work. He did what he needed to do to be strong again, to be ready to protect his friends and do his duties. He was relieved when Captain Treville sent them on a mission, declaring Porthos fit to go back to work. It was a simple delivery that would take a days ride, there and back. 

 

The ride to the Rectory, where they dropped off a missive from the Queen, was made without incident. The day was sunny and just warm enough to be pleasant. They stayed for a simple lunch and to rest the horses, then headed back home. 

 

It was Porthos who requested that they stop at a Tavern they had noticed on the ride up. Since they were only a hour's ride from Paris, they could afford the time. So they entered with no expectations of anything but slaking their thirst and perhaps letting Porthos earn some coin with a card game. 

 

Athos kept close watch over D'Artagnan, but the boy seemed fine. He flirted a bit with a serving girl who seemed besotted of him, although it was obvious it was nothing but harmless play between them. Porthos found a card game he was allowed to join and Aramis passed the time making a buxom bar maid blush at his charm and flattery.

 

It felt almost...normal, and Athos allowed himself to relax. He should have known it was too good to be true. A loud and obnoxious drunkard had tried to paw at one of the serving wenches and when she shoved him away he staggered back and bumped into D'Artagnan, who was making his way back from the bar with a fresh bottle of wine at Athos' request. 

 

All would have been well had the drunkard not taken notice of D'Artagnan. But he squinted bleary eyes at the boy, one hand lifting to pat D'Artagnan's face as he drawled, "Now ain't you a pretty boy."

 

D'Artagnan had frozen at the words, more so than the touch, before stepping back and heading for the door. Athos shot to his feet and followed him. He found the boy outside, wine bottle still clutched in one hand, pacing. Uncertainty made him simply stand there and watch, for he didn't know what to do or say. But as he watched he saw D'Artagnan gather himself together and simply stop. 

 

Athos allowed himself to approach. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.

 

"I'm fine." D'Artagnan spoke without hesitation, taking pride in the fact that his voice didn't waver. Inside he felt shattered for the drunk man's touch, and words, had released a flood of memories that had shaken D'Artagnan to his very core. But he had fought for control and he was proud of himself. He had wavered for a moment, but he was back on track. He would not let his demons win. Looking down at the wine bottle in his hands, he was surprised by it's presence, only to remember that Athos had asked for it. So he delivered it to his mentor with a smile.

 

"Thank you," Athos replied, managing a smile. He noticed Porthos and Aramis standing a ways back, watching them both with concern. He hadn't seen them come out of the Tavern. No surprise there, since all of his attention had been focused on D'Artagnan. "I think it's time to go."

 

D'Artagnan was more than ready. "I'll get the horses." He strode off to the barn and was a back a moment later. 

 

They all mounted and were silent as they made their way back to Paris. 

 

It was D'Artagnan who asked, "So, Porthos, did you win anything?"

 

"They were all cheaters, the bloody lot of them," Porthos complained, making the others chuckle. 

 

"Gambling is a sin," Aramis chided him.

 

Porthos snorted. "Don't get me started on your sins," he warned his friend.

 

D'Artagnan let their banter wash over him, soothing his soul for the moment. But he knew his demons would not rest for long. Little by little, he was losing the battle.

 

 

* * *

 

Saying goodbye to D'Artagnan had been the hardest thing Constance had ever had to do. It had been easier to send him away with lies, than with the truth. She loved him but they could not be together. She could not risk her husband carrying out his threat to end his miserable life. If she were to leave him for D'Artagnan only for him to kill himself, she would never find happiness. Guilt would consume her. Consume them both. It had been a beautiful dream to think she might have a future with the dashing and gorgeous Musketeer. But it was hard not having him in her life, if only as a friend. 

 

They had run into each other on the street at times, and D'Artagnan had been unfailingly polite. But she hadn't seen him in a few weeks and that worried her. She hadn't seen any of the Musketeers and the temptation to go to the Garrison just to check on them all was getting hard to ignore.

 

At the end of the week her husband set off on business. He would be gone for three days, so Constance let temptation win. She made her way to the Garrison, half expecting to see her friends sparring or shooting or whatever they did when they weren't off on dangerous missions. But the Garrison was empty. So Constance climbed the stairs and made her way to Treville's office. If D'Artagnan and the others were off on a mission, the least she could do was ask after them.

 

Treville looked surprised to see her and Constance could see worry in his eyes. That scared her. "I'm sorry to intrude," she apologized. "I just...I haven't seen D'Artagnan for a while and I just wanted to check on him. I know I have no right to do so but..."

 

"He's ill," Treville interjected, rushing around the table to grab Constance by the arm when she suddenly went pale and swayed on her feet. "He's not dying," he was quick to reassure her. "But...it's been difficult. He's had a hard time."

 

"Can I see him?" Constance got her feet back under her and locked eyes with Treville. "I'll only stay a moment, I just need to see him."

 

Treville held her gaze for a moment, as if working through something, then he nodded. "He's in his room. Porthos is with him."

 

Constance was surprised. "Not Aramis?" She knew he was the healer of the group.

 

"He and Athos are on King's business," Treville replied. "They'll be back shortly."

 

"I see." She didn't, but her need to see D'Artagnan outweighed all else. Waving a goodbye, Constance practically ran out of the office. She had to ask Serge where D'Artagnan's room was, but a moment later she was in front of the door, trying to catch her breath and straighten her hair all at once. It was then that she heard voices through the door.

 

D'Artagnan was shouting. "Stop treating me like I'm fragile! I'm fine!"

 

"You're not fine!" Porthos shot back. "How do you expect your fever to break if you don't rest?"

 

"I don't need to rest!" D'Artagnan's voice was hoarse and there was a crashing sound that startled Constance into action.

 

Without knocking she opened the door just in time to see Porthos scooping D'Artagnan off the floor. "What happened?" she demanded.

 

Porthos nearly dropped the boy, startled by Constance's sudden presence. He found his balance and settled D'Artagnan back in bed, pulling the covers up and smoothing back the sweat-dampened hair off the boy's forehead. "He's weak and collapsed. His fever doesn't want to break."

 

"How did he get sick?" Moving to the bed, Constance sat on the edge and studied D'Artagnan. Even pale and ill he was so beautiful it made her heart ache. Reaching out she ran trembling fingers over his cheek, feeling the heat of his skin. Spotting a basin and rag on the table, she held out her hands. "Hand me the bowl, he's needs cooling down." She accepted the basin, soaked the rag, rung it out then smoothed it over D'Artagnan's face and neck. Only then did she realize Porthos hadn't answered her question, so she turned to him and pinned him with a glare. "What happened?"

 

"He got cut by a sword," Porthos replied, moving to lean against the far wall as he watched Constance care for D'Artagnan. He hoped her presence could off some comfort. "It wasn't a deep cut but it got infected and brought on a fever." Porthos didn't give all the details. Like the fact that in the month that had passed since Captain Jasper had violated D'Artagnan, but boy had started out strong but swiftly declined. 

 

For a time things had almost gone back to normal, but the toll on D'Artagnan to keep up the pretense had been too much. He had become detached after a time, simply going through the motions of normalcy. Eventually he had started losing weight again and nightmares had plagued him so that he couldn't sleep. They had all tried to help him but he had shut them out. They could do nothing but stand by and watch him slowly shatter, piece by piece. 

 

The last straw was this cut that had turned into a fever so quickly. Aramis had said the boy was so worn down his body couldn't fight the infection. Yet that hadn't stopped D'Artagnan from trying to prove himself to them. But he was losing the battle and they were all losing hope. Porthos just wanted D'Artagnan to face his demons and let them all help him battle them. It would have been far better for the boy to scream and rage and fall apart than to watch him slip away from them slowly but surely, as if accepting his fate as given.

 

Before Constance could respond, one of the other Musketeers appeared with a message for Porthos. 

 

"Captain Treville needs you right away," he stated.

 

"Go, I'll stay with D'Artagnan," Constance offered.

 

Porthos nodded, feeling relieved. "I'll be back as soon as I can." And with that he took off.

 

Constance lost track of time as she kept watch over D'Artagnan. She tireless wiped him down with cool water, determined to beat his fever back into submission, and she was rewarded, hours later, when the fever finally broke. Tears of happiness slid down her face as Constance found clean water and a towel and she removed D'Artagnan's damp shirt before washing him down and carefully drying his now cool skin. 

 

To make him more comfortable, she also wet his hair before gently toweling it dry. The dark strands felt like silk against her fingertips and it made her smile at the memory of their lovemaking, when she had fisted her hands in his thick hair as he'd made love to her as if she were the most precious and beautiful woman in the world.

 

"No...no..." D'Artagnan mumbled, eyes fluttering open and focusing on her. He managed to sit up, body trembling as he pushed her away from him. His body felt heavy but he forced it to move, slipping over the bed and stuffing himself into the corner. He stared at Constance, but he saw a different face. Jasper's scarred face and he felt the imprint of his touch. The pain had been easy to handle, but the man's gentleness after had been D'Artagnan's undoing.

 

"D'Artagnan?" Constance fell to her knees before him, shocked at the way he huddled into the wall, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tightly around them as he tried to curl into a ball. Something was terribly wrong.

 

Porthos chose that moment to return, taking one look at D'Artagnan in the corner and moving to kneel beside Constance. "What happened?"

 

She shook her head. "I don't know. His fever finally broke and I washed him and tried to make him more comfortable. He just woke up and pushed me away before stuffing himself into corner. What's going on, Porthos?"

 

Before Porthos could even attempt to explain, D'Artagnan took notice of him, body unfurling and eyes blazing with fury. 

 

"GET OUT!" D'Artangnan screamed at him. Then he focused on Constance, trembling at the memory of her soft touch. "Both of you get out! Get out!" Surging to his feet, gait unsteady, D'Artagnan grabbed the only chair and hurled it into the wall. The table was his next victim, upended and shoved across the room. Then he headed for the bed.

 

"D'Artagnan!" Constance made to stop him only to find Porthos grabbing her by the waist and pushing her out of the room. He closed the door behind them, leaning against it to keep her from trying to enter. Not that it stopped Constance from grabbing his arm and trying to pull him out of the way. "What's wrong with you? He's going to hurt himself!" 

 

But Porthos held firm. He understood what was happening and he thought maybe it was the start of D'Artagnan finally breaking down. And once the walls fell, maybe they could finally help him. "He won't. Let him trash the room, he's earned it. We can fix whatever he breaks in there." Porthos just prayed they would be able to fix D'Artagnan as easily, or would the boy be lost to them all.

 

Constance was beyond horrified but D'Artagnan's actions and by the sadness in Porthos' eyes. "What's going on? Please tell me," she pleaded. She could not be with D'Artagnan right now, but she still loved him with all her heart and she wanted to help him.

 

"Something happened to D'Artagnan over a month ago," Porthos allowed. "It's not for me to tell you, but he's strong and he'll get through this. We'll make sure of it." The sudden sound of silence from within D'Artagnan's room startled them both for a moment. Porthos felt relieved as he put an arm around Constance and nudged her towards the stairs. "Go home. D'Artagnan will be okay." Porthos just hoped he was telling her the truth. He waved her on then quickly entered the room without looking back. He didn't notice the fact that the door hadn't closed all the way behind him.

 

Constance stood frozen for a moment, her head telling her to listen to Porthos, but her heart wouldn't let her walk away. She crept quietly to the door, noticing the crack, and went still as stone to listen.

 

Porthos saw D'Artagnan slumped in the corner again and he moved to sit in front of him. "What do you need me to do?" he beseeched him.

 

"I don't know," D'Artagnan whispered. He felt so tired, so very tired. For so long he had fought to be strong enough, good enough. He had fooled them and himself for a little while, but now he can feel himself falling apart, breaking open, festering, like a wound bleeding out. Stitch after ragged stitch unraveling and he can't stop it, he can't sew himself back together. 

 

"Talk to me." Porthos had to resist the urge to pull D'Artagnan into his arms and shelter him. He would have given anything to be able to will his strength into the boy. He would have given his right arm to take away the pain and uncertainty that glimmered in the dark eyes. 

 

D'Artagnan let his head tip back against the wall, blinking his eyes against the burn of tears he refused to shed. There was no point to them. "I don't know how to stop feeling like this," he whispered, only to find words spilling out of him like water out of a broken bucket. "When he held me down...when he hurt me...I could handle it. I understood that. I could fight that. But after..." Anger flared in D'Artagnan for a moment. Anger at Jasper for what the man had done to him, but mostly at himself for allowing it to destroy who he was. But try as he might, he couldn't escape the memory of the other man's touch. It burned on his skin, marking him, twisting in him, gutting him.

 

Porthos moved closer, willing D'Artagnan to look at him. "What did he do?" he asked even though he dreaded knowing. But whatever it was they would face it together. They were stronger together.

 

Constance caught her breath as she listened, wanting to run from what she'd heard but unable to move. She was starting to understand what Porthos refused to tell her, but she didn't want to believe it. Covering her mouth with both hands to keep silent, Constance moved closer to the door.

 

D'Artagnan lifted his head, eyes locked on Porthos who looked as broken as he felt. He was tired of feeling this way. Tired of feeling like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin. Tired of fighting his fears. Better just to say it out loud and maybe then he could face it and banish it once and for all. "When Jasper was done with me, he ordered a bath." Saying it out loud sounded strange and pathetic and D'Artagnan started laughing.

 

"Tell me what he did," Porthos interjected, cutting through D'Artagnan's manic laughter. The sound of it had turned Porthos cold.

 

"He made me get in the bath, threatening to slit your throat in front of me if I didn't," D'Artagnan continued, closing his eyes against the images his words evoked, only they were burned into his memory and onto his skin. "He washed me. Touching me everywhere. Gentle and...almost tender. He washed my hair, taking his time and being so careful. Then he made me get out and he dried me off and dressed me before brushing my hair. He kept telling me how...pretty... I am and how perfect my skin is and how...how..." He broke off, choking on a sob, but he was determined to get it all out now. "He did not leave one inch of me untouched and it was worse than when he fucked me. Pain was easy, but when he was gentle it made it more intimate, more dirty. It made my skin crawl and I can still feel him touching me..."

 

Whatever tiny bit of control D'Artagnan had been clinging to broke. He felt his body tremble, felt tears sliding down his face and he couldn't stop it. Even now he could feel Jasper's touch skimming over him, imprinting on him, staining him. 

 

"D'Artagnan..." Porthos was horrified by what he'd heard and he reached for the boy, wanting to comfort him, but found himself pushed away. 

 

"No...no!" D'Artagnan tried to crawl deeper into the corner. "Please don't! I'm so disgusting!" he didn't even realize what he was saying.

 

But Constance heard him and she couldn't stop her own tears as she pushed open the door and ran to D'Artagnan. Before he could move she fell to her knees beside him, slamming a fist into his shoulder as hard as she could. Only to pull him into a hug a heartbeat later, all the while calling him a fool and ordering him to stop being so stupid. 

 

D'Artagnan found himself falling into her embrace, pushing aside his shame at realizing she'd heard everything. She knew the truth and here she was in his lap and offering him comfort and he clung to her with all the strength he had left. Tears slid down his face, one after another and he couldn't stop them and he didn't care. Constance was sobbing, her slender body shaking harder than his own, and her warm weight pressing into him grounded D'Artagnan. 

 

Porthos sat across from them, keeping vigil, face wet with his own tears.

 

* * *

 

Weary and worried, Athos and Aramis returned to D'Artagnan's room. When they pushed open the door they were stunned to see Constance curled up into bed next to D'Artagnan, both of them asleep.

 

Moving to Porthos, who was sitting on the floor, propped up against the wall and dozing, Athos tapped the big man's shoulder. 

 

Jerking awake, Porthos' eyes shot to the bed and at the sight of his charge still sleeping, he relaxed as he rose to his feet. "It's been a long night," he whispered.

 

Aramis tiptoed to the bed, carefully reaching out to press the back of one hand to D'Artagnan's forehead. "His fever broke," he said happily.

 

Porthos nodded then gestured for them to step out where they could talk without waking the boy. Once they were all assembled and the door was closed carefully behind them, Porthos told them everything that had happened. 

 

To say that Athos was stunned was an understatement. He felt rocked off his feet as Porthos told them what the boy had revealed. It hurt him to think that D'Artagnan had been holding this inside him all the while. But more than anything he wished he could roll back time and destroy Jasper before the man could ever touch the young Musketeer. But he could not do that, but what he could do is everything in his power to help D'Artagnan deal with this. And not just the boy.

 

For Porthos was fighting back tears, his guilt at war with his anger. "I should never have let him go!" he hissed, one big fist slamming into the railing. "Better to have died -- "

 

He got no further as Aramis' hand cracked across the Porthos' cheek. "Don't you say that!" he snarled. "Don't you dare cheapen what D'Artagnan did for you. And don't you ever think your life is unworthy and so easily tossed aside! Do you hear me?"

 

"I do." Porthos wiped at his eyes, feeling humbled. He had needed that slap, that reminder of what mattered. He was stronger than this and so was D'Artagnan. "Apologies." He meant to Aramis , Athos and mostly to D'Artagnan. 

 

"How did Constance come to be here?" Athos queried. 

 

Porthos was happy to focus rather than continue feeling pitiful. "I guessed she missed him and she came to check on him. I called away for a bit by Treville and she stayed with D'Artagnan. She was with him when his fever broke. When he woke up he just...he started breaking down. He told me what happened and she was outside, listening. She refused to let him break. I swear she put him back together through sheer force of will."

 

Aramis grinned. "Through love," he stated with certainty, for he knew the power of it all too well. And not just a woman's love, for Aramis knew they all loved the boy and they would all be there for him. This was just the beginning of healing for D'Artagnan. It would be a long journey and he would stumble along the way, they all would. But someone would be there to catch the boy and set him back on his feet. That's what they did for each other. It's what they would always do.

 

* * *

 

Constance woke up to sweet kisses. She smiled as she wrapped her arms around D'Artagnan's neck and kissed him back. She shouldn't be happy and she shouldn't want this so much. She had no right to him, but she needed him and she would do anything to keep this. Whatever this was, whatever it may be.

 

"Is it morning?" D'Artagnan asked, when they finally broke apart. He felt as if it hadn't been morning in a long time. Having Constance in his arms was a gift, and even though he knew it couldn't last, he would take what he could get. She made it possible for him to accept the darkness, for she was his light. 

 

"Could be," Constance allowed, reaching out to smooth his hair back. Oh how she loved the beauty of his face. It was a reflection of the beauty of his soul. 

 

D'Artagnan kissed the tip of her nose then said, "I need to talk to the others. Athos and Aramis are back." He hadn't seen them come in, but he'd awoken in time to see them slip out of the room. He knew they would be talking about him. So he made to get up but a small hand on his chest stopped him.

 

Constance shook her head at him. "You're still healing and need to rest. I'll fetch them." She slid off the bed and made an attempt to straighten her skirts. Then she fussed with her hair for a moment. When she realized she was fighting a losing battle, if D'Artagnan's laughter was anything to go by, she simply gave up and flounced to the door. 

 

Aramis noticed her first. "D'Artagnan?" He feared the boy had suffered a relapse. Physically he was weak from the infection and emotional he was worn down and exhausted overall.

 

"He's awake and wants to talk to the lot of you," Constance replied, unable to keep a smile off her face. What happened to D'Artagnan hurt her and made her angry and so protective of him that she couldn't even think straight. But right now she was simply happy that he was alive and that she had this moment to be with him. She would take it as a gift to them both.

 

"Let's not keep him waiting then," Athos replied, leading the way into the room. He was pleased to see D'Artagnan sitting up and looking much better than when he and Aramis had set out on their mission. On that day Athos had truly feared they would return to find the boy gone.

 

D'Artagnan was watching them warily, a smile curving his lips when Constance moved to sit beside him on the edge of the bed, taking his hand in hers. He tangled their fingers together, pleased by her open show of affection for him. This wouldn't last, and he knew it, but she was here now and she gave him courage. "Did Porthos fill you in?" He asked, even though he could see the truth in their eyes. A part of him wanted to shy away from them, but at the same time he knew they would never judge him. And regardless, he would not run from this anymore. 

 

Athos moved closer, locking eyes with D'Artagnan. "I know how hard this has been for you and I wish things could be different. But I am proud of you, D'Artagnan. "

 

"Proud of me?" D'Artagnan echoed, stunned by the praise. For what had he done to deserve it but fallen apart like a broken thing.

 

"Proud," Athos confirmed. "We all are. You made a great sacrifice to save our brother." He gestured to Porthos. "I admire and respect your strength, and I am ever grateful to you."

 

Aramis stepped forward to add," We all are." 

 

D'Artagnan shook his head, unable to process what they were saying. Unable to accept this because it made no sense in his mind. "I was weak!" he snapped back at them. "I fell apart!"

 

"We all did," Porthos countered, moving to kneel beside the bed. He owed D'Artagnan his life and he would some day find a way to pay him back for the sacrifice made. "We all break," D'Artagnan. "The strength lies in picking ourselves up and putting the pieces back together. Although, sometimes we lose a piece that we'll never get back, but we're still stronger for it. You're stronger than you know. Stronger than I could ever be. Never doubt that," he stated fiercely, reaching out to cup D'Artagnan's face in both hands. "Do you hear me?"

 

"I do." And he did. Gratitude surged through D'Artagnan. He knew how lucky he was to have these men in his life. He would not question it further. "I cannot thank you enough for putting up with me." When they were about to protest he held up a hand. "Allow me this and I'll never speak of it again. But I know it's been as exhausting for you as for me, so I want you all to leave me and get some rest. I'm fine." He let them hear the sincerity of his words. "I have no regrets for what I did. Porthos is alive and I would do it again without hesitation. And I have battled my demons and won. Captain Jasper has no more power over me. So go and rest." D'Artagnan gestured for them to leave and he was pleased when they bowed, said their farewells to him and Constance, then closed the door behind them. No more needed to be said about what happened. Today they closed the chapter on that book and moved on. He would move on. 

 

Rising to her feet, Constance fussed with the covers, fluffing D'Artagnan's pillow and smoothing his hair back until he caught her hand and kissed her fingertips. 

 

"You need to go home as well," he said softly. He did not want to send her away, but he knew he must. No matter how much he loved her, she belonged to another man.

 

"I'm free for another two days," Constance replied, without hesitation. "I know this can't last, D'Artagnan, but I'm not ready for it to end just yet." As she spoke, Constance unlaced her bodice. "I know this isn't right," she continued. "But it feels right and I want it. I want this for myself. For just once in my life I want to be selfish. I want to have you, if you'll have me."

 

D'Artagnan pulled her down onto the bed, kissing her with all the love he had for her in his heart, soul and body. "Always," he whispered against her lips. "Forever and always." Evem if forever only lasted two days.

 

Constance melted into him, letting them become one body. And when they lay together in the aftermath, she felt him trembling at her side. "Are you all right?" She feared he had done too much when he was still weak from the infection. And if he fell sick again it would be her fault and all the good that had happened would be undone. "D'Artagnan?" She lifted her head to study him. His beautiful face made her catch her breath, as did the tears that shimmered in his dark eyes.

 

"I'm fine," he whispered, fingertips lifting to brush over her cheek. "I'm just...happy. I know this is still only a beautiful dream. I know tomorrow you got back to your husband and nothing will change between us. But I have this moment to remember you by and it makes me happy. I can feel you imprinted on my skin."

 

"Oh," Constance breathed, for she knew what he was saying. He loved her as she loved him, but more than that her love was making him whole again. He just didn't use those words, because men never did. So she smiled and kissed him and bid him to sleep. She would hold him for as long as she could, but even when she left, their love would keep the dream alive. 

 

So D'Artagnan slept with the woman he loved in his arms.

 

Constance watched him, blinking back tears. "I love you, D'Artagnan," she whispered. "I always will."

 

* * *

 

For the next three days, D'Artagnan did little more than sleep and eat. Porthos watched over him, making sure he ate a bit of something whenever he was awake long enough to chew. So it was a relief when he finally woke up and managed to stay awake. He took a bath and found himself able to scrub away the sweat and the fears. He tossed the bitter memories out with the dirty water, finally feeling clean again.

 

With Porthos hovering over him, D'Artagnan made his way to the table in the Garrison, where Aramis and Athos were gathered. He joined them, accepting the apple Aramis gave him and slowly working his way through it as he simply let himself stare about at the other Musketeers. Some were sparring, some were simply chatting in groups, others were coming and going, busy with King's business. It felt normal and D'Artagnan couldn't stop smiling.

 

Apparently it was catching, because Aramis smiled back, as did Porthos and D'Artagnan was certain he could see Athos fighting the urge to smile as well. It made him laugh. It made them all laugh and, the next thing D'Artagnan new, Porthos was pulling him to his feet and into a hug. A very careful hug.

 

D'Artagnan pushed back enough to glower at Porthos and state firmly, "I won't break you know."

 

There was a moment of silence as Porthos just blinked at him, but then the big Musketeer was wrapping him in a rib-crushing bear hug that lifted D'Artagnan right off his feet.

 

"My turn," Aramis called out, once D'Artagnan was back on the ground and trying to find his balance. He hugged the boy just as fiercely, feeling D'Artagnan giving back as good as he got. It was wonderful to feel D'Artagnan's vibrant strength wrapped around him. Aramis knew the young Musketeer was back with them. They were whole again.

 

"Your turn, Athos," Porthos pointed out, once Aramis had set D'Artagnan free. 

 

The older man didn't move a muscle, he just stood there, eyes locked on D'Artagnan. He wasn't one for physical affection, wasn't one to believe in love or affection of any kind anymore after his wife's terrible betrayal. But he wanted to share in this moment, he ached with the need to be a part of it. He willed himself to take that step, only to find D'Artagnan breaking down the wall for him.

 

Without hesitation, D'Artagnan wrapped his arms around Athos, burying his face in the other man's neck. He could not define what Athos meant to him. Mentor, big brother, father figure perhaps. His admiration and respect for the man knew no boundaries and D'Artagnan felt something click back into place when Athos's arms encircled him. Stitch by stitch he had sewn the pieces of himself back together again, and Athos was the knot tying them all in place. 

 

He would never unravel again.

 

THE END


End file.
